


The Lady Crowned With Stars

by alexandriakmoon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexandriakmoon/pseuds/alexandriakmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She WAS Thranduil's lady crowned with stars... but that was five thousand years ago and <i>apparently</i> the Valar had a different plan in mind for Gilrin, daughter of Radagast. Her destiny lay not with the Elvenking of Mirkwood but rather with a member of Thorin Oakenshield's company, and unfortunately there is NOTHING she can do about it. Thorin's angry, Thrandy's jealous, and Gilrin has a feeling the Valar are sitting on their bums cackling madly. Who knew going to capture a mountain from a dragon would be so hard?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some We Never Forgive

**Author's Note:**

> General Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own anything related to Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit/Tolkien-verse other than the stack of books and films that I paid somebody for. All characters and their rights belong to Tolkien and Jackson and a long list of people that I'm not a part of. I only own Gilrin, her family members (we've got a ways to go before you meet them), and other random fun filler characters.
> 
> This is a combination of book/movie verse - I tried to incorporate as much of the book as possible, but still picked movie verse for parts of it simply because that is what people are familiar with (and to be honest, I love the movie very much). Tolkien was kind of scant in a lot of The Hobbit so that leaves a lot of room for expansion. HOWEVER I tried my best to stay true to form with Tolkien-verse. C:
> 
> This is being beta'd by the ever lovely Saf Dawnheart, who can be found on fanfiction.net!
> 
> I know it's kind of a repeated idea: elf/human/not-dwarf gets with a member of the company, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!
> 
> Love, Alex

Adventures are nasty, dangerous things. Ask any Hobbit, and they'll tell you the same. They prefer warm food, a roaring fire, their books, and all the other comforts that come in a cosy Hobbit hole. It's a peaceful life, the one that Hobbits lead, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

Mr Bilbo Baggins, of Bag-End, was quite the same in that regard, or at least that's what he had grown to become. As a child he was forever giving his mother headaches when he ran off into the woods and fields looking for adventures. But as Mr Baggins grew up, the adventurous spirit began to dwindle until it was safely tucked away behind the longing for a normal life in the Shire.

It was his desire for one of these comforts – a nice smoke in the garden – that would change Mr Baggins' life forever, when a wandering Grey Pilgrim arrived at his gate and was wished to have a 'good morning.' Or rather, might have been told it was a good morning whether he wished it to be or not. Or perhaps that it was a morning to be good on. Maybe all of them at once, I suppose.

Over hill and under dale, with thirteen dwarves (or dwarrows, as they preferred to be collectively called) and the wandering Pilgrim, Bilbo was dragged, quite obnoxiously, into the greatest adventure of any Hobbit who had ever lived in the Shire.

Indeed, it was a quest to reclaim the beautiful dwarf kingdom of Erebor, and the poor hobbit had been finagled into becoming the burglar for the determined dwarrows. The host of Bilbo's company, Thorin Oakenshield, was to be the King under the Mountain. The elder of the two dwarrows known as Fili and Kili (who affectionately referred to our Mr Baggins as 'Mr Boggins') was the heir to this kingdom, after Thorin, for he was his nephew.

Bilbo learned of Thorin's quest, of Azog the Defiler, of the elves who never came to help when Smaug the Terrible besieged Erebor, of how Thorin never forgave and never forgot. They were stories to be recounted in his old age, he thought, when he would be enjoying a nice, quiet life in his little Hobbit hole, if he lived to return to his beloved Shire. Maybe he'd even write a book all about his adventures. After all, no one would believe him, but it would certainly make a great story to tell.

Thorin, unfortunately, was not quite so welcoming to Bilbo, even when the hobbit did his best with the trolls and saved all of their lives.

He was less welcoming to the idea of carrying an elven blade.

Somehow, Gandalf had a feeling he'd been even less welcoming to what lay in the Greenwood, and beyond.

Because some folk he'd never forget. Others, he'd never forgive.


	2. An Unexpected Party

Beneath the earth in a troll-cave, three eager dwarrows were burying a chest of treasure, claiming to be making a long term deposit, while another dwarf looked on and rolled his eyes. Gandalf and Thorin had just finished more cross words with one another, and Gandalf knew that it was time to get the company of Thorin Oakenshield moving in the right direction. If the Grey Pilgrim had anything to say about it, Thorin and his company would be in Rivendell by nightfall; the next day at the very latest.

It seemed that the fact they had nearly been eaten by trolls had done nothing to quash the dwarrows' good spirits, for even as they crept from the troll-cave they were back to cracking jokes, playing music, and overall being a merry gathering. Only Thorin and Bilbo seemed mildly serious, but the cheerful air was quashed by the sounds of something large cracking branches and rushing through the forest. It was not without some small amount of courage that Bilbo Baggins took the sword offered to him by Gandalf the Grey, and the company of fourteen plus one wizard were quick to group together and arm themselves. They had not expected the road to Erebor to be completely safe, but they also had not expected this many bumps to appear.

So it was to their surprise – and great welcome in Gandalf's case – that it was not some malevolent beast that came through the forest, but rather a kindly, if not odd, old wizard on a sled drawn by rabbits, shouting something about thieves, liars, and murderers. It was only when the little wizard in brown noticed Gandalf that the rabbit sleigh came to a screeching halt.

"Radagast!" Gandalf exclaimed, relief lacing his tone. Thorin looked decidedly not-amused, but Fili and Kili were nudging each other and giggling at the obviously brain-addled wizard. Kili yelped as Balin discreetly stamped on his foot. "Radagast the Brown! What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Gandalf, I…"

There was the sound of rustling in the trees and Kili nocked an arrow in his bow and pulled the string back tight, aiming it in the general direction of the noise. Thorin's hand was on the hilt of his sword, and Bofur had his mattock raised high in the air, ready for combat. It was a surprise to the entire company, except Radagast, when a woman came through the trees, towering over the dwarrows (but not quite reaching to Gandalf's height). A look of distaste stole onto Thorin's face.

"Gilrin!" Gandalf smiled, bowing his head in greeting.

"Mithrandir," the woman gave the Grey wizard a respectful bow, her long, silver-blonde tresses falling into her face as she did so. Unlike any other elleth that Thorin and the company had seen (and granted, they had not seen very many), this new woman wore the clothes of a hunter – brown trousers, a green tunic, and leather boots. Despite her height, her masculine clothes, and the slightly boyish cut to her strong jaw, there was no mistaking that she was female. Grey eyes glittered above high, razorblade cheekbones. "It has been a long time since you came to visit. What brings you to our part of the forest?"

"That does not concern you, elf," Thorin snarled, stepping forward. "Had we known that your kind inhabited this land, we would have never come here."

Radagast had the sense to look mildly offended. Gandalf raised his staff as though to whack Thorin on the back of the head for his impudence, but to the shock of both wizards (and the rest of the company), Gilrin turned to the dwarf-king and bowed once more, deeper than she had for Gandalf.

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. King under the Mountain." She straightened herself back up. "Heir to the dwarf-kingdom of Erebor. It is good to see that you are in good health." Gilrin crossed past the company to Radagast's side and murmured something in his ear before leaping away back into the forest.

"She's shown you more respect than I would have in her circumstances," Gandalf grumbled to the bemused dwarf prince. A scowl replaced the look of confusion before Gandalf turned back to Radagast. "She is well, I assume?"

"As well as can be, Gandalf," Radagast replied. "But I'm afraid things are not looking well. There is something dark stirring in the forest… something that has not been seen for an Age. Gilrin has noticed it as well –every day, her travels come closer and closer to the edge of the forest. She will not go within two days' journey of the Woodland Realm, and she has not travelled South in many months. There is a Shadow bleeding from the heart of Dol Guldur. The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf. A darkness is fallen over it. Nothing grows anymore, at least nothing good. The air is foul with decay. But worst is the webs."

"Webs?" Gandalf questioned. The dwarrows were beginning to shift uncomfortably. Even Thorin was disturbed by this.

"Spiders, Gandalf, giant ones… I followed their trail. They came from Dol Guldur."

"Are you sure of this? The elf fortress is abandoned!" Gandalf's voice had dropped, dangerously so.

Radagast's reply was grave. "No, Gandalf. 'Tis not. A dark power dwells in there, such as I have never felt before. It is the Shadow of an ancient horror. One that can summon the spirits of the dead. I saw him, Gandalf. From out of the darkness. The Necromancer has come." The little wizard leapt in fright, remembering something horrific. "Sorry," he apologised.

The trees rustled with the wind, and from out of the woods stepped the elleth from earlier – Gilrin – with a bow in her hand and a quiver on her back. Thorin looked upon her with distaste, but Kili was most interested in the bow she was carrying. It was of elvish make, dark wood inlaid with gold wood in some kind of autumnal pattern. She looked ready to go on a hunt or to answer the call to war.

"The Greenwood is very sick, Mithrandir," the woman's voice was deeper than a normal elleth's. "Dol Guldur is bleeding. The Woodland Realm is turning black. The forest is being choked by madness."

"A Necromancer?" Gandalf sounded wary. "Are you sure?"

Gilrin sucked in a sharp breath a nodded as Radagast fumbled in the folds of his robes, drawing out a long object wrapped in oiled cloth. He handed it over to Gandalf, who carefully opened the package to reveal a glaring sword.

"That is not from the world of the living," Radagast's voice had gone raspy. Gilrin drew a pipe and a bundle of pipe-weed from within her clothing and handed them to the wizard. He lit his pipe and said nothing more.

The dwarrows exchanged looks as Gandalf and Radagast went silent. There was no sound in the forest – not a bird singing nor an animal rustling. They could not hear running water. It was though the Shadow had sucked the life out of the forest they stood in.

Then there was a blood-curdling howl. Radagast's pipe went out.

"Is that a wolf?" Bilbo asked.

"That is no wolf." Bofur replied, fingers gripping the handle of his mattock.

Another chilling howl, and a cry tore from the elleth's lips. "WARG!"

A beast and his rider appeared on the ledge above the company. It was huge, bigger than anything Bilbo had ever seen. Its white fur was matted down, its teeth were each the size of Bilbo's small hand. A foul, acrimonious odour wafted through the air, and Bilbo couldn't tell if the smell came from the warg or its Orc rider. The beast leapt down only to have its skull crushed by Bofur's mattock. A few blade-wounds from Dwalin and five arrows from Gilrin later, the scout riding the beast was dead as well.

"Warg scout, which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"ORC PACK?!" Bilbo exclaimed, much louder than he'd meant to.

"Who else did you tell of your quest besides your kin?" Gandalf rumbled, drawing himself up to his full height.

"No one," Thorin hissed.

"Who did you tell?!"

"No one, I swear!"

"The ponies! They've bolted!" came Ori's desperate cry.

"You must go!" Radagast said, interrupting what was sure to be a violent exchange of words as he hobbled back to his sled. "I will lead them away."

"These are swift, foul creatures – Gundobad Wargs. They will catch you and kill you!" Gandalf protested.

" _These_ are Rhosgobel rabbits." Radagast was almost smirking. "I'd like to see them try. Gilrin will lead you out of the forest – she knows these woods better than anyone, save for me, and possibly… well… you'd best be on your way."

Before Thorin could protest about not needing any help from "elf-scum," Radagast had fled on his sleigh, cheering in amusement and shouting taunts at the pursuing wargs. The dwarf prince turned to Gilrin, who had pulled her arrows from the warg's flesh.

"I hope you are up for a run," the lady smirked before taking off, with Gandalf at her heels.

Even the most experienced of the dwarrows felt their lungs screaming as Gilrin led them in a criss-cross through the forest. She was careful, Gandalf noted, to never stray within some invisible border she'd sketched out in her mind. Most notably, the Woodland Realm was given a wide berth.

When they burst from the shaded cover of the trees into the glorious sunshine, Radagast could be seen across the hills, being chased by a pack of wargs. The creatures cared not who their prey was, but their masters were not too pleased at chasing a wild wizard and ten rabbits. Out on these rolling hills and wide plain, there was no cover. Gandalf overtook Gilrin as leader of the company's trail, and she quickly nocked an arrow, ready to fire upon orcs and wargs alike if necessary.

"Mithrandir, you are insane!" she cried as he ran in front of her. Gandalf could say nothing for lack of breath.

Behind the two, Kili had nocked an arrow as well. He could shoot as well as any elf, and certainly better than any woman. She would not be the only one protecting the company, he would make sure of that. They dove behind a rock, all of the members of the company sorely out of breath. This was not something they were used to.

Gilrin had run across these fields many, many times in her long life, but rarely did she get the thrill of such a chase. Granted, being caught and torn to shreds by wargs was not a thrilling prospect, but if Gandalf was taking them where she presumed he was, then they would be safe. The dwarrows (as dwarves prefer to be collectively known as) would be disgruntled and mostly likely incredibly unhappy, but they would be safe in Imladris, for evil things did not go into that valley.

The stench of something horrid filled her nose, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls. A Warg Scout had taken up residence on top of the rock they had chosen to hide behind. Thorin gave the young, dark-haired dwarf a nod. The young dwarf, so eager to please the king, turned and shot the warg from the rock. Blades hacked at the warg, and as the scout stood to run Gilrin let loose the arrow she had nocked, watching as it pierced through the orc's neck.

The dwarrows fell upon this orc, cutting him into thin shreds. Gandalf had disappeared. Radagast's sleigh of rabbits was no longer enough to distract the orcs, who heard the screech of their kin and the dying howl of the warg that the young dwarf had felled. He was skilled with a bow, generally reserved for Men or Elves. Though she knew a compliment from an elven creature might not be appreciated, she resolved to praise his skill with a bow when the worst was behind them.

"Where is Gandalf?" she heard the young dwarf's shout.

"He has abandoned us." Thorin turned his gaze upon the elleth. "And left us with this burden."

Gilrin's eyes narrowed but her ears twitched before she could retort. "Run, Thorin Oakenshield. If you wish to draw breath again, run."

For a brief moment, she saw Thorin's eyes darken as he misinterpreted her words as a threat. When a warg howled, however, he took heed of her words and called for his men to run. The youngest dwarrows – two of them, brothers by their looks – were ready to defend the other running dwarrows with their lives. Gilrin looked at the dark-haired dwarf and gave him a nod, her expression conveying the need for a truce, however brief, between their races. The young dwarf nodded. Elf and dwarf simultaneously drew back the strings of their bows and within moments the air was filled with arrows that rained down upon the charging wargs and their masters.

The remaining dwarrows formed a cluster near a particularly large rock. They were dwarrows – they would not run. They would stand their ground and fight.

 _Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!_ Gilrin thought bitterly. A second glance was all it took to bring a wide smile to the elleth's face. The dwarrows, whether they knew it or not, were standing right before one of the entrances to the valley. Moments later, Gandalf's tall figure emerged from behind the rock.

"This way!"

The dwarrows didn't give it a second thought.

"Kili!" Thorin called out.

The dark-haired dwarf that held a bow so gracefully turned to look at Thorin, who was gesturing him over. Kili's brother had already made for the rock. The wargs were closing in on them, but Gilrin held them off as long as she could while Kili made for the rock. Thorin gave the elleth an expectant look. Knowing it would be the only chance the dwarf king would offer, Gilrin turned on her heel and ran as swiftly as her feet would carry her to the entrance.

Gilrin slid down the slanted rock wall, feeling it scrape away at her clothing and exposed skin, but she didn't care. Thorin leapt down after her and all the dwarrows clumped together. A familiar horn sounded in the distance. Seconds later, an orc and his warg fell through the hole, arrows pierced in the heads of both.

Thorin knelt, making himself much smaller in Gilrin's eyes than before, and pulled an arrow from the warg's head. His lip curled in disdain. "Elves."

"I cannot see where the path goes! Should we follow it?" one of the dwarrows, a tall one with a tattooed head, was staring down the secret path.

"Follow it of course!" This came from the dwarf with a mattock and a beard that nearly made Gilrin giggle. His hat, however, intrigued her more than his odd facial hair – it had tiny little wings that flopped about when the dwarf began running, and it made the elf want to giggle all the more.

Gandalf and Gilrin exchanged looked of amusement as all the dwarrows shoved each other over and scuffled in an effort to get to the path (and as far away from pursuing orcs as possible.)

"Mithrandir, I hope you know what you have done," Gilrin said as she and Gandalf followed, trailing behind so that the dwarrows would not hear. "I do not know what your business is with the King under the Mountain, but I cannot imagine that he will be too enthralled when he reaches the other end of that path. Nor can I imagine that your business with him is very safe."

Gandalf harrumphed and leaned on his staff. "You haven't changed a bit."

Gilrin threw her silvery head back and laughed as she and Gandalf entered the passage. "You say this every time our paths cross, Mithrandir, as if you expect me to do so every time you walk away from my door. I, unlike my father, am not becoming brain-addled by the more… shall we say _magical_ plants of the forest." The path was beginning to widen ahead – the dwarrows would soon be spit into the valley where no evil could come. "I cannot promise that Lord Elrond will be too happy to see them either, if the rumours of how the dwarrows act as house-guests are to be believed."

Gandalf harrumphed again and did not say another word, at least not until he heard the angry grumbling of the dwarrows from ahead. The wizard pushed on ahead of Gilrin, who was quick to follow. If there was to be an argument between King and Istari, she would not want to miss it for the world. Her heart felt heavy, clouded with worry, and all jest aside, she needed urgently to speak with Lord Elrond, to ask him about her Ada.

She didn't know what she would do without her Ada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Ada - father


	3. Dwarven Manners 101

Gilrin stepped out of the tunnel and into the valley of Rivendell just in time to hear the tail end of Gandalf’s berating of Thorin. Pity. It would have been nice to see the argument that had likely burst forth from the upbraiding.  


Unlike the grumpy dwarrows, the little hobbit, whose name Gilrin had yet to learn, was looking around the valley in awe. She did not blame him. Imladris still took her breath away. A long life did not dull one’s appreciation for true beauty. Gilrin wondered then why Gandalf had brought the dwarrows here in the first place. The Grey Pilgrim rarely did things just ‘because’. Coming to Rivendell was likely not a coincidence.  


While the elleth was lost in her thoughts, the dwarrows and the wizard had begun making their way down a path and some stairs. From far away, Gilrin saw that it was Lindir – one of Lord Elrond’s most trusted attendants – that was going down to greet them. There was no warning great enough. Lindir knew of the stubbornness of dwarrows. She was certain he would be alright.  


The little hobbit had begun walking quickly in an attempt to catch up with the rest of his company, and Gilrin decided to follow. The hobbit must have seen her move, for he turned around and stopped, waiting for her to catch up. Gilrin smiled. At least someone was grateful for her aid. The thought of warg-breath and the tortures that orcs could inflict made the elleth shudder violently.  


“Thank you kindly, Master Hobbit,” she said as she reached him. They began walking, their steps in tandem as they hurried to reach Thorin and his company. “May I know your name?”  


“O-oh, yes. Sorry.” The hobbit suddenly seemed quite flustered, as if he was afraid he had committed some grave transgression. Trust a hobbit to worry about flouting manners. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”  


“Gilrin, at yours,” she said with a bow of her head.  


“Are you from Rivendell, Miss Gilrin?” Bilbo asked.  


“I am not, Master Baggins. I live in the forest with Radagast, and I have for a very long time. Whereabouts do you come from? It has been a long time since I have seen a hobbit. Do you come from the Shire or from Bree-land?”  


“The Shire,” Bilbo said wistfully. He missed his home already – his books, his fire, his handkerchief. But to get to see _Rivendell_? No hobbit had ever done such a thing, and he felt that this was shaping up to be quite an adventure, even if it did mean putting up with a company of grumpy dwarves.  


“I admit I have not been there in many years. Does it prosper?”  
The rest of the hurried trip down, Bilbo excitedly spoke of his home – particularly putting emphasis on Bag End, and his pride at being the master of such a home – and the hobbits he had left behind. Unfortunately, there was not much the little hobbit could say, as the duo had reached Thorin Oakenshield and his company, nearly at the same time as Lindir.  


“Ah, Lindir!” Gandalf sounded relieved. The dark haired elf inclined his head briefly. “I must speak with Lord Elrond.”  


Thorin fixed Lindir with a look of hatred – not unnoticed by the elf – as the attendant replied, “My Lord Elrond is not here.”  


There was the familiar sound of a hunting horn, and for the first time Lindir and Gilrin looked at each other, exchanging smiles at the sound. Lindir inclined his head in respect before fixing a stoic expression on his face as Lord Elrond and his hunting party came through the entrance to the valley on their horses.  


“Close ranks!” came Thorin’s gruff shout. The dwarf with the mattock pulled Bilbo into the centre of the dwarrows as they formed a protective circle around him. Gilrin raised an eyebrow, though she could not say she blamed the dwarrows. If she were that tiny, a bunch of ‘giants’ on horseback would likely frighten her as well. She snorted at the thought.  


The leader of the elven company, Lord Elrond, master of the Last Homely House East of the Sea, swung down from his horse to be greeted by Gandalf, whom the Elvish lord greeted in return. “Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders.” He sounded mildly amused. “Something, or someone I should say, has drawn them near.”  


“Ah… well… that may have been us,” Gandalf admitted. Gilrin bit back another snort of laughter. Gandalf sounded like a child who had just been caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. Any moment now he would have been shuffling his feet in embarrassment. The dwarrows behind the wizard seemed to relax only a little, save for Thorin of course.  


Elrond looked down at the company as politely as he could, before bowing his head to Thorin. “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.” The way Thorin reacted to this greeting would determine if his company would have beds to sleep in tonight.  


“I do not believe we have met,” Thorin replied, equally carefully. As a king, Gilrin supposed, he must always at least _attempt_ to be diplomatic, though from what she had seen, he had a running record of 0-2 against him (loss on Radagast, loss on herself).  


“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” Elrond went on to explain. “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”  


“Indeed? He made no mention of you.” The last word was laced with obvious distaste. Gilrin was torn between being offended and bursting out laughing. Instead, she decided to prevent a war.  


“My Lord Elrond.” Gilrin bowed to the head of the Last Homely House, effectively cutting off Thorin from saying another rude word. “Do you have news of my father?” The dwarf-king looked disgruntled at the interjection.  


Elrond bowed in return and straightened up with a sly smile on his face. “Lady Aeweniel Angrendis, also known as Gilrin, your father is safe. We saw him and his rabbits heading back to the forest from whence you came. No doubt he is returning to take care of the fauna and flora of your home.”  


Fili and Kili exchanged a look of shock and even Thorin was surprised. That… insane, blubbering madman of a wizard was this elf’s _father_? Gandalf, however, had a smile on his face, brought on by the speaking of Gilrin’s full name. Thorin raised an eyebrow in Gandalf’s direction. Why on earth a name could make the wizard grin so widely was beyond Thorin, but then again, wizards were a strange kind to begin with.  


Relief flooded Gilrin’s features and, in a strange instance of losing her composure, she hugged the closest person to her. Unfortunately for Thorin’s temper, her victim happened to be Bofur, who was thoroughly confused at being swept into a bear hug by such a willowy elf. Or half-elf, Thorin supposed, as there was no way that _Radagast the Brown_ was an elf as well.  


Gandalf and Elrond exchanged hushed words as Gilrin blushed and pulled away from Bofur, more embarrassed that she’d lost her composure than anything (Bofur’s ears had turned a nice shade of scarlet, while Gilrin’s cheeks looked like those of a painted wench). Moments later, Elrond turned and spoke in Sindarin to the dwarrows. Immediately they were up in arms.  


“Does he offer us insult?!” one cried.  


“No Master Gloin, he is offering you food,” Gandalf replied with a hearty chuckle. Gilrin and Lindir exchanged another smile, causing Thorin to scowl deeply. “And a room for the night, if I am not mistaken.”  


Elrond bowed his head in acquiescence before a stern look overcame his face. He had slipped from gracious host back into ‘wizened elf Lord’ mode in the blink of an eye. “Lindir! Caladir!”  


The two attendants sprung to life at Elrond’s words. Lindir, who was perhaps a bit more hardy than Caladir, offered to take the thirteen dwarrows to their room, leaving Caladir to handle the lodgings of Gandalf, Bilbo, and Gilrin.  


Gilrin let out a sigh of relief. It was getting a bit obnoxious, having Thorin Oakenshield glare at her viciously the entire time she had spoken to Lord Elrond. If all ended well, she would perhaps only have to share a dinner in his presence and then never have to see or speak to him again. The elves of Rivendell were not the elves of the Greenwood. _She_ had not even lived in the Greenwood when Erebor was taken.  


“Are you all right, Miss Gilrin?” Bilbo asked from her side.  


Apparently her annoyance was showing, as she realised then that she had let her features twist into a scowl. Gandalf and Caladir walked ahead of the hobbit and the half-elf, discussing the current affairs of Rivendell in Sindarin.  


Gilrin smiled down at the hobbit. “I am perfectly fine, Master Hobbit, save for the boil on my back that happens to be Thorin Oakenshield.”  


Ahead of them, Gilrin heard Caladir snigger.  


“Have you met him before?” Bilbo asked as he pulled out his pipe and tamped down pipe-weed in it. He put his mouth around the bit of the pipe and lit the plant with a match. It smelled of fresh grass and vanilla, and Gilrin decided that she quite liked it.  


“I haven’t had the misfortune to, no,” Gilrin replied airily, as if insulting royalty was something she did every day. Come to think of it, she did insult royalty quite often, but only in her mutterings around the forest when she was in a foul mood – very little was safe from her angry rants, except maybe Sebastian and the Valar. “But unfortunately I have a horribly curious nature, and if my father takes off on his sled swearing and shouting about liars, thieves, and murderers, I simply have to follow him and find out what in the world is going on in that batty brain of his.”  


Bilbo choked on his pipe-weed, trying to keep himself from laughing for fear of offending Gandalf, but the Grey Pilgrim was chuckling at Radagast’s expense as well.  


“It seems we have something in common then,” Bilbo replied. “Thirteen dwarves showed up on my doorstep with no warning and _destroyed_ my pantry.” After a quick look at the wizard ahead of them, Bilbo used the bit of his pipe to point in Gandalf’s direction. Gilrin laughed and Bilbo smiled.  


Ahead of them, Gandalf harrumphed. Before either elf or hobbit could get a scolding, Caladir stopped in front of a pair of doors and turned to the two younger members of the trio.  


“I think you should find these lodgings comfortable. Master Baggins, your room is on the left. Lady Aeweniel Angrendis, your room is on the right. I shall come and escort you to supper when it is time.”  


Bilbo and Gilrin said their goodbyes to Gandalf and Caladir, and then to each other, before the little hobbit went to his room, relieved that he could finally have some time to himself.  


The room Caladir had given the hobbit was beautiful and open-aired, with a magnificent view to the valley below. The bed was large and looked incredibly soft, much like his bed at home in Bag-End. The sun was beginning to sink closer to the horizon, and though Bilbo was quite hungry, Caladir had not been very helpful in describing suppertime. The hobbit’s stomach grumbled loudly.  


“Well, if I cannot eat, I may as well take a bath,” the hobbit mused to himself.  


The bath was larger than the bed and it sunk into the floor like a miniature amphitheatre. The bath was already filled with steaming water and Bilbo felt a great surge of gratitude towards the elves. He left his pack in the bedroom and stripped down his dirty clothes and settled into the bath. Even if the dwarves were unlikely to get clean, there was nothing wrong with him doing so. Gilrin, no doubt, would be like-minded.  


Bilbo was almost sad to see the elf-maiden go, even if they had only spoken briefly, for she seemed as kind as Gandalf (and perhaps as old) and she did not look upon him as a burden for being a hobbit. After all, Bilbo had warned Gandalf that he would not be of much use, but the wizard seemed to think that there was something greater in Bilbo’s spirit than even the little hobbit did. But he did not want to think of adventure anymore, and so he let himself slip deeper into the warm water, cleaning away the grime and muck of what had shaped up to be a very eventful time since they left Hobbiton.  


***

  
Bilbo was quite clean and reading through one of the books he had found on the desk in his bedroom when there came a series of soft knocks at the door.  


“Come in!” Bilbo called, quite happy that the elves had more manners than the dwarves.  


Standing in the doorframe was the golden-haired Caladir, who stood waiting with Gandalf and Gilrin. The latter two of the party were conversing in hushed tones and Bilbo, despite his good ears, could not make out what they were saying.  


“Master Baggins, it is time for supper,” Caladir said, his voice twinkling like wind chimes. Before the elf could finish his sentence, Bilbo was already on his feet and halfway to the door. The elf blinked at the hobbit’s swiftness. Apparently, Caladir had misjudged just how much Hobbits enjoyed food. Behind the light elf, Gandalf and Gilrin were chuckling.  


Bilbo made sure to shut his door behind him as Caladir once again took the lead with Gandalf, letting Gilrin fall behind to speak to the hobbit.  


“I hope your accommodations are acceptable,” Gilrin said kindly, knowing full well that hobbits enjoyed homey places. She was pleased when Bilbo nodded eagerly. “And I hope you do not mind that the elves of Rivendell do not indulge in meat.”  


“I don’t really mind what kind of food I’m eating, as long as it’s good and there’s plenty of it,” Bilbo answered. “Wait… do other elves eat meat?”  


“Only the wood-elves, Master Baggins,” Caladir spoke from the front of the company. “In particular, the ones that inhabit the Greenwood and live under the rule of King Thranduil.” Caladir said the name with an unintentionally curled lip before offering an apology, though Bilbo was not sure to whom he was offering it.  


It did not take the company long to reach the dining area, where elves were already playing music on flutes and harps. Meanwhile, the dwarves sat at a table, obviously waiting for Bilbo, Gilrin, and Gandalf to arrive. Gandalf and Gilrin were taken to the head of the table – where Elrond was waiting with a very uncomfortable-looking Thorin – while Bilbo was lead to a seat beside a white-haired dwarf whose name Gilrin did not know.  


“Please,” Gandalf said. “Before we begin, I would like to introduce Gilrin to the rest of the company.” When Elrond nodded, Gandalf placed a hand on Gilrin’s shoulder and smiled at her. “Gilrin, allow me to introduce the company of Thorin Oakenshield. There is Balin and Dwalin.” He pointed to the white-haired dwarf beside Bilbo and a tall dwarf with tattoos upon his bald head. “Fili and Kili.” These were the two young, handsome dwarrows that Gilrin had fought with earlier. “Ori, Nori, Dori.” The youngest looking one, the one with a strange star-shaped hair style, and one with a mothering look on his face. “Oin, Gloin.” Two older looking dwarrows, one with an ear trumpet and the other with a ginger beard. “Bifur, Bombur, Bofur.” The dwarf with an axe in his skull, the fattest of the lot, and the dwarf with the funny hat. “And of course, the leader of this company, Thorin Oakenshield, with whom you are already familiar.”  


Gilrin bowed to the dwarrows in greeting and received a smattering of grumbles, with only real greetings from Fili, Kili, Balin, and Bofur – the rest seemed to have lost whatever manners they were capable of. Thorin simply grunted.  


Gandalf sighed.  


If they were all going to be this standoffish, it would take some choice words to make them see the sense in Gilrin joining them on their quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien's elves have a very different set of naming customs than we do, and because of Gilrin's ancestry, she follows the naming traditions of the elves of Valinor. I'll get Gilrin to explain it later on to the dwarrows, but for simplicity's sake, her full official title is:
> 
> Lady Aeweniel Angrendis also known as Gilrin 
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this so far! C:


	4. In Which Gandalf Meddles More Than he Ought To

Gilrin was sitting at the desk in her room, writing a letter to the records-keeper of Gondor, when something rapped at her door. The elleth’s brow furrowed in confusion. The company she had aided had gone to bed long before. By all standards, it was nearly midnight. Elladan and Elohir were out causing some mischief somewhere and Arwen was in Lothlorien. She did not worry, for evil things did not enter Rivendell, but she certainly was confused.

“I know you’re in there Gilrin, so open the door.”

The wizard. Gilrin breathed a sigh of relief and crossed the room, opening the door to Gandalf’s smiling face. “Please come in, Mithrandir.” She stepped aside to let the tall Istar enter the room and she offered him the chair she had been sitting at. “How can I help you?”

“I have come to ask a service of you, Gilrin daughter of Aiwendil,” the wizard replied, settling down in her chair. 

Gilrin’s eyes narrowed. “You are never this formal, wizard. What is going on?”

Gandalf did not immediately reply. He drew his pipe from within the folds of his robe and tamped down the Old Toby inside it before lighting the pipe-weed (which smelled more like skunkweed to Gilrin) with a flame from his finger. Whatever the old wizard’s business, Gilrin already did not like it.

“Thorin Oakenshield and his company are on their way to the Lonely Mountain, and t-”

“I thought the mountain was taken over by Smaug. Has he perished?”

“No one knows, but I doubt it. Thorin Oakenshield will do anything to reclaim Erebor, including crawl into the belly of the beast to kill the creature that ruined his inheritance. Now, as you know, the quickest way to the Lonely Mountain is to pass through the Greenwood and th-” 

At this, Gilrin began to see where the Istar was going, and she found she did not like it one bit. “Absolutely not!” she snapped. “I thought my father had gone insane from being away from Valinor all these years, but that’s clearly nothing compared to what has happened to you!”

“Aeweniel Angrendis, I am surprised at you! You know these woods and the Woodland Realm, better than anyone in this company could hope to find! You still have family and friends in the Greenwood, and Smaug poses a threat to them should he ever wake! You could help rid these lands of a pestilence, and yet you will not because of a grudge against T-”

“Do not say _his_ name, Mithrandir,” Gilrin hissed. She continued to steadfastly ignore Gandalf’s presence otherwise, staring out at the stars glittering over Imladris. She was getting tired of the wizard’s pestering, and it certainly didn’t make her any happier that he was speaking to her like she was a child. To him, perhaps, she might have been, but to most people of the world she was ancient, save for the two races that made up her blood. “I have a life outside of all of this, you know. At the week’s end I am to travel to Minas Tirith to study some of the newer works in the city’s records. After that, I have thoughts of going to visit Bree-land, and now perhaps the Shire, if it is as lovely as the Hobbit says it is. I am to go to Lothlorien in two months’ time. I cannot simply put all of this on hold to drag a band of dwarrows through a realm I myself have not entered in nearly two thousand years!”

Gandalf’s scolding tone brought her back to reality. “You are the best hope these dwarves have of getting out of a scrape in the Woodland Realm. You might even be able to keep them _safe_.”

“My answer is not changing! I will not go! I have not been in that kingdom for over two-thousand years, Mithrandir. I know little to nothing about what it has become since the Shadow at Dol Guldur took it over. I know nothing of…” she trailed off.

“…of?” Gandalf prodded gently. 

“Of what has become of Telvolasdir,” Gilrin finished, squeezing her eyes shut in pain. “The Shadow corrupted him long ago. What he has become now, I cannot say.”

“I seem to recall you being quite fond of his son,” Gandalf chuckled. “Though you complained about him half of the time, it seemed.”

“Well, he always tried to sneak out with the Guard. Nearly broke my bow in half once, too.”

“Do you not worry about what the Shadow might do to him?”

Gilrin sighed and ran a finger through her silvery hair, which gleamed under the stars she loved. “Every single day, I worry about what will happen to him. What _has_ happened to him.” She turned from the stars to look at the Grey Pilgrim, who was waiting for her answer. He would not accept rejection. “Very well. I will take them through the Woodland Realm, but beyond that I will have no part of your quest. The quest to reclaim Erebor is for the dwarf-lords alone.”

“You are doing Thorin a great service. And as I seem to see it, you have taken a liking to the little Hobbit, since he is more closely related to you than these dwarves, for the time being.” Gilrin said nothing. “Of course, your mother could have been wrong, but…”

“The birth visions are never wrong, Mithrandir. Not in any of the annals of our history. And speak not a word of it anymore. It is not something I wish to think about.”

“Just as you do not wish to think of the name that you are known to all by?”

Gilrin’s look could have melted flesh from the bones. Gandalf smiled and reached out a hand to smooth down her hair. “There is to be a council concerning the findings of your father at Dol Guldur. The dwarves are leaving Rivendell whilst I distract Elrond and the others. I must go to Thorin now, and tell him what you have agreed to. No doubt he will give you grief, but he will appreciate you in the end.”

“The day Thorin Oakenshield appreciates anything with Elven blood is the day I stand before the Elvenking of the Mirkwood.”

***

“Absolutely not!” Thorin was outraged. Gandalf stood in front of him, looking like he wanted to hit the dwarven king over the head with his staff. “I’ll have no elf come with us on this journey!” 

“She is not doing it for your treasure, Thorin Oakenshield. You could not ask for a better guide! You will be traversing through Mirkwood, for it is the fastest path to the Lonely Mountain, and Lady Gilrin lived in those woods for nearly every year of the Second Age and a hundred years of the Third! She… ” 

“Why should a wood-elf have compassion for a dwarf?” Thorin shot back. 

“She was not one of the elves that failed to come to your aid! And besides that, she harbours no great love for the wood-elves. She has said she will go no further than taking you out of Mirkwood. She was without her father for many years, Thorin. She will not leave him behind so lightly.”

“Half-elf or not…” 

Thorin didn’t get a chance to finish his statement, as Gandalf began to grow in size as he had at Bag End. “You are the most stubborn and careless dwarf I have ever met in my years! If I say Gilrin is to accompany you, then that is what shall be!” Even the pride of the dwarf king did not prevent him from cowering beneath Gandalf’s anger.

It did not take long for Thorin to silently, but grudgingly, agree. Gandalf, once returned to normal size, seemed quite content with himself as he sat at Thorin’s table and smoked pipe-weed. The dwarf king tamped pipe-weed down in his own pipe and took a seat across from Gandalf. 

“Why are you so determined to stick me with helpless companions?” Thorin grumbled after a few thoughtful puffs on his pipe.

“Why are you so determined to believe that your companions are helpless?” the wizard replied peacefully. 

The king and the wizard smoked for a few moments. When Gandalf was finished he stood with a serious look on his face. “There is to be a council tonight concerning the findings of Radagast the Brown. You must take your company and leave when someone comes to retrieve me. The council will try to stop you leaving, particularly the leader of my order, Saruman the Wise. You can take the side exit out of Imladris. You know where to find your company. Gilrin and Bilbo have quarters right next to each other, down the hall from where your company rests. I suggest you all get out as quickly as possible.” 

“And you?” Thorin asked.

“I will meet you in the mountains,” Gandalf replied. “Wait for me there.”

There was a knock at the door. Thorin froze. Had an elf heard everything? Lindir did not wait to open the door.

“Mithrandir,” he bowed his head respectfully. “It is time.”

Gandalf shot Thorin a look as he stood from the chair, a look that very clearly said ‘if you leave without her, you will be in trouble.’ Even defiant King Thorin did not want to anger the Istar, and so he sighed in defeat.

Might as well go tell the boys that an _elf_ was joining their quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story is moving kind of quickly, but I really want to get away from the movie-verse as quickly as I can and delve straight into the mysteries of Beorn, Mirkwood, and Erebor. For my degree my research is on Tolkien, but I focus a lot on Thranduil in particular, and I hope you guys like my interpretation of him and my ideas for why he is the way he is in the chapters to come!
> 
> Be a silent reader if you must, but comments and criticisms are always welcome!


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